Santa Carla Dreamin'
by Lady of the Lost and Found
Summary: No matter how hard you try to distance yourself from them, there is no getting rid of the Lost Boys. David won't have any of that. He'll get what he wants even if he has to track you down in your dreams in order to bring you back into the fold.


Hello Sportsfans,

Yes, it's me. I'm not dead! Yay! I am back...kind of. It's a long story. Anyways. Even though this piece doesn't look all that important it is a major milestone of my time with the Lost Boys. Back in October I went to Santa Cruz to vist/document as much of "Santa Carla" as I could. You can check out my crap-load of pictures on my website if you go to my profile and follow the breadcrumb trail. I took those pictures for two reasons. One, because it's freaking SANTA CRUZ BABY YEAH!!!! And two, so that other LB fanfic writers can actually see the real Santa Carla and use those pictures are references when writing their own works. I took as much as I can and I hope you all enjoy them. They are for you. It's the best I could do in bringing back a piece of Carla for you all.

God I have so many stories to tell! As in reality-wise stories. But that I will save for another time. Right now I have this to tell you. After much soul-searching, therapy talks, healing sessions, smacks upside the head, and dream visits from the Boys, I have decided that _Little Fighter_ will be completed. This decision does not come easy because once those last two chapters are up, I will not be coming back. I will always be a part of the fandom and a part of the insanity that is the Boys, but I will not be writing any more pieces. My time as a Lost Boys writer has come to an end. All of the stuff I had set out to write and accomplish over the past god knows how many years has and will be accomplished and there is nothing left for me to say.

A lot of stuff has happened over the past year and a half that kept me from writing. The winds of change have come back and I find myself able to pick up where I left off for a final hurrah. _Little Fighter_ will be completed in the very near and not so distant future. However I had to write this piece first as a test to see if I am ready. Well...I managed to finish this one shot and not terminate my computer so I hope that's a good sign. Heh. I know I'm rambling on but bare with me for one more moment. What you are about to read is real. It happened...in a dreamstate. I haven't been visited by the Boys like this for over a good while and I thought that I never would again. But a few weeks ago this happened and you can all thank David for opening a giant can of worms. When I snapped out of this dream I wrote it all down and pondered over it with a few trusted Lost Boys writers. Well, they pondered while I ran around screaming that the end of the world was nigh. Seeing how the world hasn't come to an end yet I think it is safe to say that this dream was meant to be shared.

Yes it is a dream. Yes it did happen. No I am not lying. For all of you who know me and know that David and I are like a spastic cat and a rabid dog when we're around one another in the writing process, you know that I wouldn't make something like this up because I was bored. This little blurb explains why my writing was put on hold for so long and I hope you all enjoy it. I can't believe I'm actually doing this but read on fellow writers read on!

Happy Reading

* * *

Why am I here?

No honestly. Why the hell am I in Santa Cruz? And why is it night time? And can someone fill me in on why it feels like it's….25 degrees? 25 degrees? What the hell! Last time I checked it was minus 14 with a wind-chill factor of -20 which means, for all you non-canadiennes, it's fucking cold!

But it's not cold. It's warm. Nice and warm. I have no idea why I'm standing on the beach by the Boardwalk with bare feet, seeing how there are probably hundreds of used needles and bits of broken glass hidden all over the place just waiting to jab me and give me a serious case of hepatitis, or aids, or tetanus. God that would really suck.

But I gotta say that sand doesn't suck. It feels really damn good.

I wriggle my toes in deeper and let out a small sigh. It does feel good to be back here. That one week in October was nowhere near enough. Not for me anyways. There was still so much to do, to see, to document. God knows when I'll get the chance to go back. I know I have to go back though. I missed something. Something important.

In the distance a whole harem of sea lions swish and swirl about in some sort of weird circular formation, as if they are all piled on top of one another in the water. Must be nice. Sleep all day in the nice warm Californian sun and swim all night doing whatever it is that sea lions do best. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be a sea lion for a day.

_Brrrrrrr. _I think someone just walked over my grave, per say. An involuntary shudder grips my shoulders and speeds down my spine and I can't stop the jolting tremors that shake me like a split second personal earthquake. God I hate it when that happens. I always feel like a ghost walked right through me or something. Gives me the freaking wig ya know?

Wait, no you don't. Who are you anyways? Why am I talking to myself? What the hell is going on here?

I look down and stare at the colourful folds of the three flowing gypsy skirts that I find myself wearing. Okay. I'm dressed like Star, sort of. Why am _I_ dressed like Star? I'm holding a shawl now? Where did that come from? And my hair! Okay I know I have big hair but I chopped most of it off last month. It's back to its old length and is really poofy. I have poofy hair, in skirts, on a beach, listening to sea lions _arf _in Santa Cruz.

Am I dreaming?

Yes. Yes I am.

Hang on a second.

I slowly turn on the spot as the wind picks up and my stupid hair swooshing into my face like some sort of damsel in distress out of a harlequin novel. I think I really am going to vomit a little in my mouth. This dream is getting me edgy. I shouldn't be here. It's been what, two….two and a half months since I was in Santa Cruz? Why am I back here?

Why why why, what is with the whys? And I am rambling. I always ramble when I get nervous.

Ah fuck! _Shudder_. Not another one. Two tremors under a minute and a half? Okay Cat Lady radar is coming online and something certainly stinks in the state of Santa Cruz and it isn't the decaying seaweed and fish bones. Wait…_sniff sniff sniiiiiiiff…_what is that funky smell? Can you smell it? Wait, no you can't. This is a dream. Why am I asking you? Who are you anyways?

_Swwwwoooosssshhhhhhhhh…_

Ah great. Now I'm wet. Where did that wave come from? Freaking wet bigass skirts. Now I have sand glued to me. Oh this is just getting better by the minute.

Why am I here? I don't want to be here. I shouldn't be here. It's not right. I don't belong here anyways. Why can't I go back home? I was in bed, under twenty blankets, I have to work early tomorrow. I want to go home. Why am I here? Whose idea was this? And now I'm crying. Why the hell am I crying? Why do I keep asking myself these questions?

Crap crap crap! Sand in my eye! FUCK! I'll never get it out. Not with these nails.

Hold the phone. Nails? I don't have nails. Mine are bitten to the quick. These…these are manicured girly never-had-to-work-a-day-in-my-pretty-little-life nails. These aren't mine.

Something catches my attention behind me. It's the light coming from the casino on the Boardwalk. The park remains silent and dark but for some reason the bright golden bulbs that line the archway where the Boys used to hang out at are burning brightly. From where I'm standing by the surf I can make out the outline of the Laffing Sal that stands guard at the entrance to the penny Arcade. I can't hear anything but I can see her bobbing up and down as if she were laughing.

I stand and wonder. Something about this isn't quite right. It takes me a minute before it hits me. I'm not wearing glasses and yet I can see her from this distance. That's impossible. I'm as blind as a bat without my glasses. Weird.

But not weird enough.

I lose interest in the Boardwalk and go back to staring out at the surf. The full moon is out and some of the stars are twinkling up in the sky. It's kind of pretty and for some reason or another I'm not insanely anxious about being mugged and raped by random drug-dealers or serial killers. Now that I think about it, I'm not worried at all. I'm perfectly calm. But still sad.

Why am I sad?

David.

I don't even blink.

He's standing there, just a little off to the side and out of my reach. I didn't even hear him arrived. It's like he just materialized out of thin air. But I'm not worried. I am just standing here, feeling sad, and not knowing what to do. The light from the Casino is bright enough that it sort of reaches us near the pier and the waterline. It outlines David even though I can see him perfectly in the darkness. He's just standing there, watching me watching him. He hasn't been this close to me in a long time.

I should kill him. I should whip out some sort of weapon of mass destruction and blow him to holy and hell back. No wait, I know! My spoon. I'll do it with the wooden spoon. One shot to the head and then stab him in the chest with it. I've always wanted to do that. Especially to him. It would feel so good wouldn't? Wouldn't it?

Ummm….Cat? Are you in there? Hello? David. Right there. Go get him. Sic him. Go kill the bastard vampire. Go on. Go.

I think I should. There's a small part of me that's pointing and snapping its fingers but I don't move. But I'm not going to. I just stand there, watching him. God, has it really been four years? That was the last time him and I could stand the sight of each other without shouting out death threats or war cries whenever we crossed paths. It really doesn't feel like it's been that long but I know better.

I'm just standing here. Why isn't he doing anything? Now's his chance to take out all of that macho ego angst of his and beat me to a bloody pulp and probably think of some really god-awful way to kill me. I'm sure he's thinking it. He's always thinking it. Trust me on this, I know. I just know.

He looks tired. That smug smirk of his is gone. His eyes are still their bright bright blue but there is no malice in them tonight. From how he's standing I can tell that he has his shoulders hunched forward a bit and it makes him look smaller. I wonder why he's standing like that. This is David after all. He stands tall and commands attention. So why does he look like he's about to drop? And why is he looking at me that way?

The wind picks up again but this time it blows against us, ruffling our hair away from our faces as we both continue to stare at one another in an almost truce-like fashion. He's not here to kill me after all. And I'm not here to kill him.

Maybe I should say something?

He beats me to it.

_Finish the story. Finish it. Finish the story._

That is his voice on the wind, whispering in my ear and through my hair. Deep and quiet. Coaxing me. Now I know what he wants.

It won't work.

_Finish the story finish the story finish the story finish the story finish the story finish the story_

"I can't."

My voice is my own. This is my quiet voice that I only use when I talk to myself when no one's around. This is my inner voice made real. Why am I using this voice? This voice is personal. It's private. Yet it comes out and I don't stop it.

"You have to." He blinks finally and straightens his back for a moment as if he's trying to ease the pressure off his spine.

"I'm dried up David. The words don't come anymore. I'm done."

Did I just say that? I've never said that out loud. Not to me, not to anyone. Saying it out loud makes it final. It is admitting a defeat that I don't want to admit.

"Finish the story. If you don't you'll end up hating yourself. You need to finish it. Finish the story." He has an almost pleading look in his eyes. His face remains the stone mask it always is, but his eyes are giving him away. He wants me to finish the story. He wants it bad too.

"Why? You _know_ what happens in the end. I don't want to."

My voice hitches a bit and I narrow my eyes slightly. He knows what he's asking me to do. He knows why I won't finish that damn story I started years ago. He knows I'm afraid. Afraid for myself. Afraid for him. Afraid for them all.

Nobody but the two of us knows how _Fighter_ really ends. The endings that were talked about before have been scrapped. There is only one true ending. And it scares the crap out of me.

"Sarah." It comes out as a frustrated sigh. He said my name. Said it out loud. Why would he say that? Why here? I am not that person in this place. We both know that.

"Why do you care anyways? We hate each other? Remember?"

Now it's my turn to get frustrated. He was the one who brought me here. Made me look like this. Like her. Was it to get to me? Or maybe he had no other choice. Maybe putting me in her place was the only way that he could yank me out of myself and into Santa Cruz. Or is it Santa Carla?

"Finish the story. It has to be finished." He straightens out this time and takes his hands out of the pockets of that big black trench coat of his. He's still wearing his gloves. What is he hiding?

We stared at each other now. His words are hanging in the air between us. I can feel them. I can also feel his rising need to smoke at least three cigarettes in the next thirty seconds. But he doesn't. He knows I can't stand the smoke. He's trying to be polite on my behalf.

That's the realization that gets to me. David is actually being nice to me, after all the mud slinging and name calling that we've gone through. I don't want to trust him. It could all be an act to get what he wants. He's good at that you know. You can't trust this guy as far as you can throw him.

"It's no good. Too much crap in it. I can't do it anymore David. I don't care enough anymore."

There. I finally said it. I hope he's happy.

I can't write that story any more. I want to but the words stopped coming a long time ago. It's just all radio static and ceaseless violence now. So much violence and hatred. So much bloodshed. Too much if you ask me. I have lost the point to it and now it has snowballed out of my ability to control. If I try to finish it I don't know what'll happen.

I'm scared and I'm tired. I feel just as tired as David looks. It has gone on for far too long and I just want to go away and leave me alone.

David senses this. Somehow he does. He sighs again, but this one is long and drawn out. His attempt didn't work. Oddly enough when he looks at me again sparks aren't shooting out of his eyes. He has a resigned look on his face and instead of hissing and spitting as I would normally do right about now I just stand there and hug myself a little tighter. My fur isn't standing on end and his fangs aren't bared. This is a definite first for the both of us.

The sea lions start barking up a storm and we can hear them splashing about in the water. The wind decides to kick up a bit of sand and chase a few waves as we watch each other to see what will happen next. We're in unfamiliar territory and don't know what to do.

David makes the first move. He always does. Well, most of the time. My eyes are following him as he moves closer. His boots sink into the sand with every step he takes while I just stand there, wary but not alarmed. He stops when he's about a foot away from me. We're so close I can feel him around me. I haven't felt him like this since the first time I laid eyes on him and was knocked clean on my ass by his gravitational pull.

But that pull isn't there anymore. It's just the two of us, nothing else.

We watch each other warily. I guess we both look like we're staring a potentially lethal animal in the face and waiting for it to strike. It would be funny somehow but right now it isn't.

A faint, almost non-existent strain of music makes me look away for a second. It's the refrain from _Miss Louise_. I'd know that song anywhere. Is it coming from the carousel? It might be.

I turn my head to the right in order to look over my shoulder in the direction of the carousel house and then the world stops turning.

Before he could talk himself out of it David makes his move. I don't even see it coming.

He steps forward and the next thing I know he has his left hand buried in my hair and pushes me into him. It happens so fast that there isn't time to resist or even scream. In one clean fluid motion David has me pressed up against him, trapped with my arms at my side, and with his mouth on mine.

I'm dead. I'm dead. It's finally happening. He's won and I'm dead.

But I'm not dead. I'm not dead right? I can't be dead. If I was dead then how come I can feel the stubble of his permanent five o'clock shadow against my skin? I can actually feel it, especially against my lower lip and chin. His skin is rough and his lips are chapped and dried out, as if the salt in the air has taken its toll. His hand on my head keeps me immobile and I quickly shut my eyes. I'm not going to witness this. I can feel it all. Feel the coldness of him through his clothes, the roughness of his grip as me brings me in closer as if that were even possible. I can actually feel each and every action but I refuse to witness it.

I press my lips together as tight as I can and refuse to rise to the challenge. I won't. I won't. He can't make me. I will not.

I'm such an idiot.

He finds away. He always does. I should have known he had something else up his sleeve. I did know and yet here I am, landed hook, line and sinker. His hand in my hair tightens into a fist and he pulls my head back, not too hard but just enough to make me grimace. My lips move just a tiny bit and it's enough. His tongue pries its way through my teeth and I can feel the sharp prick of his fangs as they elongate against my upper lip.

You know what the freakiest part of all this is? Not that he is kissing me. Not that I'm not fighting back when I should. The scariest part of all this is the fact that deep down inside, there is a tiny part of me that likes it.

It feels _good_.

And this is when I wake up screaming blue murder at 3 am and send my father flying out of bed thinking that the house is on fire.

How do you explain to someone that you've just been mind-fucked by an old adversary?


End file.
